Cyborg
by FastFoodFanfiction
Summary: ABANDONED. Sorry about that. Haven't been on this acct in a while, figured I should give a final update Mechanical legs aided Mercury's triumph against his father. Why stop below the waist? In which Mercury rejects Cinder's offer to join her in favor of pursuing power on his own terms. By replacing himself with technology limb by limb, organ...


Marcus Black should never have given Mercury prosthetic legs.

For every slap, every backhand, every leather boot to the ribs, Mercury paid him back in kind.

Flames roared around him, licking the night sky, but he waded through the fury, legs lashing at the drunkard stumbling before him. Even heavily inebriated, his father should not be underestimated— which was why he didn't give Marcus a chance to counterattack.

A spinning back kick tore into his father's sternum, and his chest caved in. As his body was flung through the air, the telltale web-like stuctures of aura breakage shimmered on his body.

Memories welled within him— hiding in cupboards from the cracks of belts, waking up in pools of his own blood, ground to paste against the floor. Never again.

Giving Mercury a taste of power was a fatal mistake. Now that he'd gotten a glimpse of a life without impotence, without submission, he grasped it at all costs.

Roaring, he charged the man's fallen figure, putting all of his weight and power into a final stomp.

Marcus Black, legendary assassin, shattered and was no more.

Mercury panted, his breath frosting in the cool night air. A part of him couldn't believe it. Years of abuse, years of beatings, years of kneeling were overcome in a flurry of kicks. There was a point when he'd revered the corpse before him as some indomitable god, a figure who shouldn't be challenged on pain of inevitable death.

As he stared up into the sky, the stars winking at him, he'd never felt more alive. More independent. More free.

Until two figures emerged from the treeline.

The first was a raven-haired beauty who carried herself with the poise of someone used to dominance. He'd seen that posture on his late father, too; despite standing before a man crushed to death, she remained in complete control.

The girl to her right, he assumed to be some subordinate. _She_ wasn't nearly as relaxed, her body settled into a tense posture, arms chambered and ready to spring to her defense at any moment.

"I'm looking for Marcus Black," the raven-haired lady said, frowning. Ha! Mercury spat on the downed figure beside him, narrowing his eyes.

"There you go."

Her eyes flickered to what had once been an intact human body staining the ground crimson.

Her subordinate settled back even more, her eyes widening. "That's the assassin?"

"And you're… his son," the raven-haired lady concluded, eyeing him.

"We saw your fight from the treeline. He's taught you well." Her lips quirked into a sort of half-smirk.

There were only two types of people who contacted Marcus Black: those who sought his services, and those with grievances against him. He couldn't place the lady firmly in either category. He wasn't sure which he preferred.

With the adrenaline leaking from his system, the wear-and-tear of the battle began to show in aches and pains lining his entire body. He wasn't to the point of collapse— not even close— but he also wasn't ready for another protracted fight.

Especially against multiple opponents.

"What's your name?" she smiled.

"Mercury."

"Mercury," she repeated, her voice turning the word into a seductive whisper. "Tell me, are you anything like your father?"

The first group, then. Someone who wished to make use of an assassin's talents.

Truth be told, he was, as much as he wanted to deny it. His father had built him to kill, drilling everything from instincts into his mind and mechanical limbs into his thighs.

"That depends. What do you want?"

"Talent," she replied. "And anyone who can kill Marcus Black at such a young age should have that in abundance."

He paused. She wanted to recruit him? Be an underling, like the tense girl beside her?

He'd been someone's dog for too long, trashed, spat on, commanded. A vocal part of him wished to never experience that again, but everything had a price.

"And what's in it for me?" he asked.

"Power. I'm Cinder Fall, and this is my associate, Emerald Sustrai. We belong to a faction of influential elites, each of which has the capacity to elevate individuals like yourself to their true potential. We'd give you not only accommodation, but also top-tier training." She walked up to him, smirking her hips swaying with each movement. "With our support, you'd have the resources to not only surpass your father, but place yourself on an even plane with the most powerful of Hutsman and Huntresses."

It sounded enticing, he had to admit. Everything about her seemed enticing. Almost _too _enticing.

"And what's the catch?" he breathed.

"You become my associate, much like Emerald. A small price to pay for power, no?"

Her hand graced his collarbone before cupping his cheek, sending shivers down his spine.

Associate.

What a poisoned word. She meant underling, subordinate. Someone for her to twist around, much as she'd nearly done to him over the course of the conversation.

He wanted power, sure. The kind of power where he'd never experience the impotence he'd felt at the hands of his father again, the kind of power which projected strength before any opponent.

The kind his mechanical legs had granted him. They were so superior to human limbs that the comparison almost wasn't worth making. Faster, more durable, more dexterous, more strong. What if he could apply such power to his whole body? A mechanical hand would outperform his own in grip strength, no question. A mechanical eye might make the sneakiest of attacks appear telegraphed.

And whatever shadowy organization she belonged to, he doubted they could offer him _that, _especially if they chose to keep him an underling. They'd never produce grunts more powerful than their leaders— that was rule number one of an organizational hierarchy. Power meant control— and they'd never give him enough for him to threaten their position.

Cinder wanted to use him.

"We don't need him. Everything was going fine!" Emerald hissed.

The backhand came so fast he almost didn't see it. "Do not mistake your place," purred Cinder.

He narrowed his eyes. Was this the kind of treatment he'd expect as an 'associate'? Beatings at a sign of displeasure? He'd had a lifetime's worth of those.

"I'm good."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm fine where I am."

"I… see." Cinder glanced at him as though he were a fly which evaded her flyswatter.

He stepped back, slipping out of her hand and settling into a low crouch. He doubted she'd kill him— why would she?— but he wouldn't put it past either of them.

Thankfully, she also didn't seem like someone with the humility to ask twice.

"Very well. Come along, Emerald." She turned and began the winding path back down the mountain. Emerald trailed her like some obedient hound. "Oh, and Mercury?" she threw over her shoulder as she stepped beyond the trees, "should you ever change your mind, we'll be happy to accommodate you."

Then, the pair were gone.

A weight he didn't know pressured him lifted from his chest. He took a moment to gather himself.

What now?

The house behind him had been burned beyond any salvaging. He jogged over, scanning the remains for anything that might be useful. Most everything had been charred to a fine crisp, and even the tools he'd used for maintenance on his legs were half-melted and utterly unusable.

Crap.

When he rejected their offer, he hadn't thought of an exit plan. He supposed he was homeless. The extent of his belongings were the clothes on his back.

Hmm.

Tentative plan: procure resources, educate himself on mechanical engineering, and forge himself new parts. He'd always been talented in the area, his hands taking to the complexities of maintaining his mechanical limbs with natural ease. While forging new limbs was complicated, given time and resources, he had no doubt he'd be able to accomplish the task.

Only issue? He had no money, no tools, no materials, and no teacher. And he sure as hell wasn't about to find any of those things on a mountain on the outskirts of Vale.

Sighing, he trailed the footsteps of the women who'd left not ten minutes before. Vale was some distance away, but the advantages of mechanical legs were that they didn't fatigue easily and moved with superhuman speed.

It really wasn't much of a plan. Go to Vale, somehow secure resources, and accomplish his goal. Standing here doing nothing, however, helped even less.

=II=

He'd been maintaining a sprint for hours, and every aspect of his newfound independence engaged him. The air somehow smelled fresher and the ground felt softer under his feet. Even in the darkness, everything gleamed all nice and silver in the waning moonlight.

This relaxation, however, only heightened his desire for power.

If his father were alive, all this would be snatched away in an instant. He'd be pulled back into captivity again, beaten again, kneeling again. His life would rest once more in the palms of a monster, and the only monster he wanted handling his affairs was himself. Years of living under Marcus Black's torture had shown him the crucial importance of strength. Those who had it rose, while those who didn't were crushed under those who did.

He'd not only spent the hours considering his newfound freedom, though. In that time, he'd filled out more of the details.

What marketable skills did he have? Killing was the obvious one. Anything that involved violence. Could he go into prize fighting? A possibility. Assassination? He cringed. It'd take years to build up a reputation. Besides, assassins had the unfortunate side effect of accumulating many enemies. Were there any crime lords hiring in Vale who he could convince to take him on as hired muscle?

Those plans contained far more complications than he'd have liked. A useful idea for the future, maybe, but even _finding_ those job opportunities would be difficult. No crime lord was hiring with "Help Wanted" posters, and getting food on the table was his top priority. Hell, even getting a table or lodging would be difficult without any money!

What other skills?

He mulled it over. Intermediate level mechanical engineering, maybe. Not nearly enough to make use of as a professional. And… nothing else.

How depressing.

Well, he was handsome. That was something, wasn't it? He had the kind of face that drew double-takes from the opposite sex. Was being unusually attractive a real skill?

Somehow, he doubted modeling agencies would hire amputees, which narrowed the list to… strippers, exotic dancers, male escorts…

He'd almost rather starve.

At some points, the trees thinned, and houses began cropping up along the ground. His father had taken him to Vale before, so the sight of the bustling city which emerged into view didn't surprise him. The vibrancy and the liveliness, the varied colors, the hues which didn't exist on the mountainside were a welcome change. The morning sun cast them in a rosy filter, and only then did Mercury realize how long he'd been running.

He settled into a relaxed stroll as he joined the bustling street. There was a silent comfort in being one of many travailing the street, being lost in the crowds as they moved from shop to shop.

Businesses lined both sides. Coffee shop! Pizzeria! Salon! Surely one of them must be hiring, right? There!

A nightclub with a "Hiring: Bartender" sign glued to the window. The place looked established, modern, and high-end, with its pristine cut glass doors and minimalist architectural style. Stark black-and-white walls and an arched, engraved metal roof spoke to its class.

Good. It'd pay well.

Then, he looked to himself. Some blood still stained his jacket, while the bottom ends of his pants were splattered with the stuff.

He doubted they'd give him so much as a second look in this clothing.

Hmm… who on this street looked to be presentable, and also around his size?

Quite a few businessmen in the middle of their commute. Several viable candidates.

Time to pull a classic switcheroo.

He bumped past candidate #1, making sure to spread his arms all over the man's side. "'scuse me."

The businessman scowled. "Watch where you're going!"

The man continued along his path before a thought dawned on him. Mercury would be worried if it didn't, to be honest.

He'd been so blatant in throwing his hands over the man's body that the man would be an idiot not to think he'd been pickpocketed.

With a worried glance around him, the man dug his hand into his left pant pocket and heaved a sigh of relief to find that what Mercury presumed to be his wallet was still there.

Perfect.

Walking up to him from behind, Mercury bumped him from behind— but this time, he did take the man's cash. The kind sir had been generous to point out its location to him, after all.

"Hey!"

Feet pattered after him as he dove into a back alley. The man followed—

—right into a headkick. He went out like a snuffed candle.

"Ouch," Mercury smirked. "Sorry, bud. Business is business. I'm sure you understand."

Minutes later and a few hundred lien and a fancy suit richer, he made his way back to the club. As he approached, he eyed himself in the reflective material of the wall. Damn, he looked good! If the glances the female passersby were given him were any indication, it wasn't just him. For whatever reason, he presented best in stolen clothing.

The two glass panes opened up as he approached. Automatic doors, huh? Whistling, he stepped inside.

Somehow, the interior was even nicer than the exterior. The obsidian floors had been polished to glowing perfection, and the whole place shimmered with a technological gleam. A large structure bound to the ceiling held up all sorts of lights and pyrotechnics, which hovered over a large, terraced dance floor.

To his left lay a stark white reception desk, and behind that were a pair of twin girls. They looked to be in their late teens, with matte black hair and emerald eyes. The only thing differentiating them was the color of highlights around their eyes— one turquoise, one red.

"Hello!" he smiled. "I'm here to apply for the bartending job?"

The girl with turquoise accents, whom he now mentally referred to as Turquoise, and her twin, Red, stood. Red gave him a smile, while Turquoise snorted.

"What do you think?" Turquoise asked, giving him a once-over.

"I dunno. Seems like it could work," Red shrugged.

"Follow us," they said in unison, turning. The black wall behind them opened to admit a room. Shrugging, Mercury obeyed.

It was some sort of office space, or so it seemed, with a wooden desk in the center and three swiveling seats. Two on one side, one on the other. He could infer his spot.

"We'll be interviewing you," Turquoise informed him. "Why don't you tell us who you are?" Red piped up.

"I'm Mercury Black, fresh graduate of Signal Academy. Found myself with a lot of free time, so I thought, why not get a job? I graduated near the top of my class, and I've got the memorization skills of a test-taker and the dexterity of a combatant. Bartender seemed like the perfect fit. Besides, I get to spend evenings with pretty ladies such as yourselves." He threw out the last line with a whimsical, teasing grin. Corny, maybe, but he could pull it off.

Red blushed, smiling shyly at him, while Turquoise rolled her eyes and scribbled down some notes.

"Qualifications?" Turquoise asked.

"Well, the ones I've listed. I'm also a decent enough fighter. I can stop brawls if needs be."

"A bartender must have interpersonal skills, the ability to memorize and mix drinks, stamina, and a welcoming demeanor," she clipped, reading off of a list.

"Which is why I'd be a perfect fit," Mercury said. "Does my demeanor seem welcoming enough to you?"

He smiled his best crooked smile. Red sighed happily as she glanced at him, leaning forward, while Turquoise elbowed her twin in annoyance.

"Adequate, I suppose." Turquoise scribbled some more notes as she spoke.

"Who's this?" a gritty voice asked. The door opened behind him, and in stepped a tall man in a blazer and red-tinted glasses. The owner, maybe?

"Mercury Black. We're interviewing him for the bartender job," sighed Turquoise, looking him over with a critical gaze. She didn't seem like she approved. Her twin, meanwhile, stared at him looked like she approved a little _too _much.

"Mercury B-Black?" the man asked, quivering. "_Mercury_ Black?"

"Pleasure to meet you! Have we met?" Mercury turned, raising an eyebrow. In theory, not many knew Marcus Black even _had_ a son.

"No, no… but I've heard the name. I make it my business to know things, you see." The man was visibly perspiring now, his face assuming a pale shade.

"Only good things, I hope?" he ventured, smiling.

"Of course! Of course." The stammer in his voice said otherwise.

"Say, why don't you take the job? You can start anytime, even today! Starting salary is 25 lien an hour. We'd be pleased to have you. Hours are between 9 P.M. And 3 A.M."

Mercury smiled. The man had heard of him through his father, no doubt, and seemed to hold no small measure of fear at the name. An information broker, maybe? Whatever the case, he wasn't complaining.

"Today sounds fantastic. You wouldn't know of a place I could stay, would you?"

"We have several guest rooms open upstairs! I'm sure we can fit you into one of them. I'll even charge half-price for the duration of your tenure. We can deduct the cost from your pay," the man enthused, forcing an obviously fake laugh. "Hei Xiong's the name, but I go by Junior."

He held out a hand, and Mercury shook it.

"This is Melanie and Miltia. They're our enforcers— though I doubt you'd need protection, eh?"

Junior gestured to Turquoise, who was openly gaping at the treatment he was receiving, and Red, who looked positively thrilled.

"Miltia, would you like to show our guest to his room?"

The girl nodded, smiling, before walking up to him, hugging his arm, and leading him out of the office.

"You're an enforcer, huh? What do you do?" he asked as they walked along.

"Hmm… I beat up bad guys or guys who cause trouble."

He turned and gave her an exaggerated look of surprise. "Witty, pretty, _and_ powerful? I don't believe it. Nobody's _that_ perfect. You're not hiding some deep, dark secret, are you? Perhaps a fetish for handsome men with platinum hair?"

"Oh, stop it!" She punched his arm playfully, grinning.

"I'm a bad guy, and I tend to cause trouble. Oh, Miss big, scary Enforcer! Please don't hurt little ol' me…" Teasing, but he wasn't technically wrong.

She giggled.

"Your room should be just up here," she said, dragging him up a flight of stairs almost hidden in a corner of the club.

"So we just passed the main dance area. And… here they are."

They entered a hallway with several unmarked doors. "Choose any you want."

"Thanks, Miltia. You've been too kind. See you around."

"Mm-hmm!"

=II=

Never would he have thought he'd actually benefit from his father's name. Only when he settled back into the bed, shedding his stolen clothing, did he realize how bone-tired he was.

He hadn't yet had time to process how drastically his life had changed. A part of him didn't yet believe it, still expecting to wake from this impossible dream by a wake-up slap in the face.

The room was large enough, outfitted with enough room for a bed facing the door, a metal desk beside it, and a window overlooking the street below. Muffling foam lined the walls, insulating the room from the noise of the nightclub.

Free. He closed his eyes, savoring the concept. In some ways, it didn't feel like it.

For one, his legs needed maintenance. They could work indefinitely, in theory, but he'd need to oil some joints and replace some parts for maximum efficacy.

For two, he didn't feel free.

Mercury was strong, but not strong enough. Any trained Huntsman could probably take him, which unsettled him. As he lay back, drifting into thought and unconsciousness, a memory surfaced in his mind…

=II=

The first week of training had been the most bloody. For the third time that week, Mercury awoke in a pool of his own blood, cold sweat mingling with the gore on the ground.

"Stand up," ordered Marcus, gray eyes flat. Here was a man of contradictions. He prided himself on control, on power, but allowed himself the vice of alcoholism. He maintained utmost composure when sober, but unleashed a demon when drunk— usually onto Mercury.

After waking up from one such beating, Mercury had no desire to stand. More than that, his limbs burned and ached when he tried to move them. He didn't know if he could physically stand up even if he wished to.

A slap caught him across the face and he fell, crying out.

"I don't think you understand the rules, child," Marcus whispered.

"R-rules?" He hated the whimper in his voice.

"I talk, _you_ obey. You do not question my orders, and you do _not_ hesitate. Understand?"

Mercury gasped and braced himself against the floor, head still swimming from the first slap.

"I said, _understand?_"

Another crack whipped his head to the other side. The world spun precariously, and he could only groan. Everything spiked with pain, and the mere act of _seeing_ hurt.

Still, he managed a gasping croak. "Y-yes…"

"Good. I loathe repeating myself. Stand. UP!"

He tried. He really did. He screamed at his legs to move, his arms to push himself into an upright posture, but everything in his body protested.

"So useless it's aggravating," seethed his father, breathing heavy.

A boot caught him in the stomach, knocking what air was in him cleanly out.

"You— weak — mediocre — waste!"

Each word was punctuated by a slap in the face or a blow to the body. Mercury lay on the ground, unmoving, wondering idly how he could be in such pain and still be conscious.

At some point, he started crying, which was a welcome relief. Father loathed crying more than anything else, so he'd likely end Mercury's suffering. True enough, a fist caught him upside the head, and he blacked out.

=II=

He awoke with a start, the bedsheets stained with his cold sweat. His father wasn't there anymore. Marcus was dead. He repeated it to himself, but his heart wouldn't stop hammering. What scared him was that most trained Hunters could, even now, subjugate him and bend him to their will.

All he relied upon was faith that they _wouldn't_ do what Marcus Black had done, and that was no reassurance at all. His hands clenched the sheets underneath into balled fists. Never again. No, he needed strength— and fast.

A clock hung on the wall, denoting the time— 8:00 P.M. An hour before he was supposed to begin work. Groaning, he got to his feet and ambled down the staircase, clothed only in an undershirt and pants.

A dozen or so uniformed men milled about, lugging large objects or mopping the foor. Evidently, they were preparing for the club's opening.

"Mercury!" Junior boomed from behind the reception desk. "Come. Miltia has volunteered to walk you through the job for the first day. We can begin a brief orientation before opening hours."

The emerald-eyed girl waved to him as he approached, and he smiled.

"So Mercury, I hear we'll be working together tonight. I'm gonna need you to follow all of my instructions, mmkay?"

"Sounds good. Lead on, milady."

She giggled. "Here's how you mix a gin and tonic…"

She wrapped both her hands around his, guiding his hands through stirring and adding the components. Mercury memorized the recipes and the movements as she demonstrated them, though he noticed her leaning on him or hugging closer than was strictly necessary.

Opening hours brought a slew of people, mostly young and ready to make poor decisions. He turned on his brightest smile, mixed drinks, and talked to customers where appropriate. The club had been transformed into all black and white, stretching above like a starless sky. Lights strafed throughout, emphasized by the beat of steady music and dancing feet. Tips piled into his jar as the throb-throb sound of dancing and electronic music faded and the hours passed.

His mind, however, was focused on the future. It'd be easy to relax and to collapse into a steady, stress-free lifestyle. But this job was only a means to an end. Setting up a workshop was a necessary next step.

=II=

The next day, he set out with two goals in mind— first, buying himself essentials, namely toiletries, clothing, and any accessories necessary to make his new room livable— and second, scouting out workshops.

The first, he managed in a morning, returning with bags of shirts, pants, and underwear, as well as all of the toothpaste and shampoo he'd need for the forseeable future. Luckily, the businessman he'd robbed had plenty of cash to spare.

The second— well, he had access to someone in the know, didn't he?

Junior spent most of his time in the hidden office compartment behind the front desk, and it was there that Mercury found him the next afternoon.

"Yo. Junior?" he called, strolling in. "Can I borrow you for a sec?"

The man flinched at the sound of his voice before smiling a nervous smile. Still scared of his father's name? Whatever. Mercury would use it to his advantage.

"Y-yeah. What's up, kid?"

"Are you aware how much a mechanical engineering workshop with modern equipment costs nowadays?" Mercury sat down on the seat opposite him and crossed a lazy foot over his leg. "I was thinking about buying one. Maybe renting, if it's too expensive. Can you give me a ballpark?"

Junior hesitated, biting his lip. "Hmm… a workspace with those features might run six thousand lien per month, probably more?"

"Six thousand lien? I've barely earned three hundred, and a lot of that was from tips!" he griped, running a hand through his hair. There was a startled, choking sound as Junior heard the number.

"Three hundred is already almost a hundred lien more than the previous bartender," Junior informed him with an apologetic grimace.

"Hmm… well. You have connections, don't you? Any idea where I can find work as a fighter-for-hire? Whatever's most lucrative works, even the shadier options, if you catch my drift."

"Er…." The bearlike man seemed reluctant. "Tell you what— I'll put you in touch with one of my contacts and try to get you an interview. He pays well, but he's… well, you'll see. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"What am I going to do, loaf around all day? I can't afford to wait."

Which was how Mercury found himself standing in an abandoned warehouse in front of one of the most notorious thieves in all of Vale.

=II=

"Imagine my surprise," drawled Roman Torchwick as he paced back and forth, his white overcoat fluttering about him. "Junior, the old goon, recommends a certified badass-for-hire, and who shows up? Some sixteen-year-old kid."

"I've heard that line a few times. Those who say it don't really believe I can fight until I'm mashing their faces into the ground." Mercury grinned back, a hint of challenge in his tone.

"Talk is cheap, kiddo. You got any qualifications? Any reason I shouldn't kick you out with a couple of bruises for wasting my time?"

"Well, I've killed Marcus Black. Does that count?"

Silence. Even Roman stopped his pacing to stare at him, an eyebrow raised.

"Really…." he murmured. "I was wondering where he'd gone. Intriguing… very intriguing…"

He gave Mercury a once-over.

"Pardon me if I'd like some firsthand evidence, Mister so-called badass. Neo, if you would?"

Something before him shattered. He couldn't tell what it was, but it appeared like a web of cracks had appeared in the very space before him. Then, an umbrella— _umbrella_— burst out of literally nowhere and socked him in the face.

As he flew back, he ducked and rolled to his feet. A little girl with heterochromatic black-and-pink eyes smiled at him, leaning back against her umbrella as though exerting no effort at all. How had she done that? He was certain there'd been nothing but air.

The cracks— what had they been? Precursors to a portal, like opening a crack in space? Or— was the scene before him a physical illusion, shattered only by the sudden thrust? Come to think of it, Torchwick's position did shift a space to the left at the moment of attack. Could be a trick of the light, but he doubted it.

Whatever the case, the girl before him was dangerous. She smiled, her form shifting back.

She was relaxed— almost too relaxed. What was she playing at? Frowning, he stepped in and threw a front kick— more a test than anything.

The umbrella opened, blocking the strike, before she used its momentum to hook his leg, flinging herself forward and kicking to his face. He blinked, barely raising his arms to block a headkick that would've sent him flying.

Fast— so fast!

He flipped back, establishing some distance between him and the girl.

She cocked her head at him, a wry smile on her face.

"Bravo!" Torchwick called from the back, a smug grin plastered on his face. "Bra-vo. I hope that's not all you've got, buddy. We've got plenty of meat shields already."

"Hmph. Your girl caught me off guard. It won't happen again," Mercury gritted. Torchwick was incentivizing him to attack, and with good reason. Mercury had always had an analytical mind— it was what won most of his fights. This Neo… counterstriking was clearly her element. Redirecting his force, using the umbrella to block when necessary, and taking advantage of her small frame to perform acrobatic maneuvers which proved difficult to block in close quarters.

Difficult to block for most, that was. When caught by surprise, he, too, found himself falling back. Now?

Let her try that again.

He crouched and exploded toward her in one leap, spinning into a cartwheel kick. Momentum and metal smashed directly through her.

A shattering in the air, like phantom glass breaking. But he'd been expecting this. Carrying his momentum, he spun into another kick, both feet whipping through the air like scythes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Neo not two feet from him, lunging for a strike of her own. She wouldn't be able to hit and pull back in time to escape the cascading circle of his descending legs— and with the amount of momentum they'd built up coupled with their sheer mechanical power?

A ordinary human might literally explode if they took force of that magnitude.

Neo knew it, too. Rather than attempting to back away, which would've earned her a devastating blow as the kick connected through his foot, she stepped in and braced with her umbrella in haste. A clever move, closing in so that his thigh would strike her, not his shin.

It would've worked to mitigate the damage against almost any other opponent.

Impossibly, his leg bent into a scything knee mid-air and at breakneck speed. The girl watched in horror as he brought to bear a massive blow directly onto her with only an umbrella between them.

Dear gods, he _loved_ his legs.

A crack like a horsewhip amplified a thousand fold echoed through the empty space. Incredibly, the umbrella held under the assault, though the girl's feet had been driven a good foot into the concrete. At the moment of impact, cracks burst out along the ground, caving cement in as though struck by a meteor.

How ridiculous must this girl's aura reserves be to hold under _that_?

There was a clapping sound, so jarring after such an attack. He looked up as Neo shoved his leg off of him and hopped back. Roman smiled at them both, his hands raised in applause.

"Fantastic! And I mean that sincerely this time. You've got some slick legs, kid. Tell you what— maybe we _do_ have a place for you."

He perked up.

"Settle down. It's nothing special just yet. I'm not about to hand some executive position to a kid three years into puberty. You'll be something like an enforcer. I'll pay 500 lien per job to clean up the dirty work most of my grunts can't handle. Who knows? Prove yourself useful and loyal, and we can talk larger contracts from there."

"I'll take care of the work. Just have the cash ready," snorted Mercury.

"Ooh, feisty! Why don't you give me your contact information. I'll call _you_ when I have a job for you. Do we have a deal?"

=II=

After that tempestuous meeting, Mercury made a final purchase.

He bought a toolbox and machine oil from an ordinary hardware store. It wasn't anything much, just basic tools— a wrench, a hammer, a screwdriver, and the like. Lugging a giant box up the stairs raised Junior's eyebrows, but he didn't comment.

In the waning hours of the evening, from when the afternoon flowed into when he was slated to bartend, he caressed, oiled, rewound, and polished his legs. Working on machinery was a methodical process. It calmed him, soothed him, and provided him a sense of deep peace which seldom graced his mind. Refining himself became a meditative process. Through reconstructing and polishing, he could see visible progress in the development of his strength.

He supposed it reflected some twisted yet beautiful dream. Of casting aside his mortal flesh and rebuilding himself anew, of crafting something more powerful and perfect than ever before.

Soon, he promised himself. Untold power beckoned to him beyond the horizon, and he intended to seize it.

**A/N ****There's a 5.8k word pilot first chapter of this fanfiction along with 3.5k more words of outline which I've scrapped and rewritten because I've decided to modify the direction in which I took this story****… definitely my biggest wasted effort thus far. **

**As for the Neo fight— if that fight had gone on another minute, Neo would've won. His leg dexterity caught her by surprise. Mercury's pretty strong, but the two are on different levels as of now. **

**Also, don't read too much into Mercury's flirting. He's just being Mercury. **


End file.
